Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RUSTY
" Y ou gotta fill me in on this whole 'Double H Hockey' thing," Ash says when we pull up to the barn.
"I don't want to ruin the surprise."
"I'm from Colorado. I'm familiar with hockey."
"Not like this, you ain't."
She pushes my shoulder. "I love it when you say 'ain't.' It feels like you do it on purpose, to show that you're human."
"What do you mean? I am human."
"No, you're a secret ninja or superhero, or something," she says, eyeing me. I grab my sweatshirt from the back and then come around the cab to let her out. She hates waiting for me, but I insisted that I open the door for my girlfriend, fake or not. I hold my hand out to her, and she steps down, continuing her thought. "In the last week, I've learned all these tantalizing pieces of information about you, and the mysteries just keep coming." She pats my duffel bag. "Let me guess: you're secretly the captain of the hockey team? "
"Not even close. Although Sean is."
" Sean ? Patty's brother?"
"We played on a team in middle school together, in fact. He's two years older than me, but Mullet Ridge didn't have enough kids who wanted to play, so they were desperate."
Ash shakes her head, and her curls go everywhere, including my face. "Wait, wait, wait. You played hockey?"
"Only for a few years. I wasn't that good."
"He was decent," Tripp says, coming up from behind us with Jane. "Way better than he was at basketball."
"I was better than you," I say, though it’s not true. We're both fine at basketball — nothing to write home about, but Tripp’s height gave him a huge advantage. We played on the high school team because small towns use every available athlete, and we were certainly athletic. But I preferred baseball and football.
"You were better than me at H.O.R.S.E, maybe," Tripp says.
"It counts," I say.
Ash is looking at me like she can't believe her ears. "What else am I going to learn about you?"
Tripp and Jane are walking ahead, and I take Ash's hand. She has the cutest hands. Her fingers are short but slender, and her nails are painted, for a change. They're not the electric blue of her hair and glasses but a pale pink. With her hand in mine, I run my thumb over one of her glossy nails.
I like the curious way she’s looking at me. I like thinking of her wondering about me when she's trying to fall asleep. I like the feeling that, for the first time since we met, I'm living rent free in her mind.
"It doesn't matter," I say.
"Of course it matters. I thought I knew everything about you. We talk constantly. We watch movies together and listen to audiobooks while we work and eat breakfast together all the time. What have we been talking about if not … this?"
"Stuff that does matter," I say .
We get in line behind our friends at the ticket counter. Sonny and Duke both draw small crowds, but the fans try to act cool.
"Debating if Wrath of Khan is the best Star Trek movie doesn't matter."
"I disagree," I say. The line isn't moving, so I tug on Ash's hand so she's facing me. "The reasons you like what you like matter. Knowing how you think matters. I don't need to see your yearbook to know you."
"But you have seen my yearbook! Greg sent you a video about it! And where you've been informs who you are," Ash says. Then she closes her eyes. "Sorry, I'm not trying to pout. I just feel like a bad friend. You know about my seventh grade science project, and I didn’t know you played hockey for three years."
"Technically four. I played until Sean graduated high school and then I quit."
She swats my chest, and I take that hand, too. Our hands dangle between us. "You know what I mean. You ask me questions constantly and I word vomit everything about my life? — "
"Ash, I love that you're an open book."
"And I hate that I didn't realize that you're password protected."
Password protected.
I can't deny it, so I don't try. I should try, though, shouldn't I? I should at least explain that I've never purposefully kept things from her. Except that's not true. I've purposefully held back plenty.
Where you've been informs who you are.
My dad has said something like that a time or two. A memory hits me like the back of a hand. Me standing in the bar on the day of my sister's funeral, chest heaving, hand bruised and broken. Arlo laying there with a broken, bloodied nose laughing. "You think you're so much better than me, but you can't escape who you are. I turned out just like my daddy, and so will you."
I drop my head, hoping Ash doesn't see the tightness in my eyes. "I don't want to be password protected," I say. "Not with you."
"Then start at the beginning," Ash says.
I swallow hard. "The beginning?"
"Yes! I want a full accounting of everything from T-ball through college, and if you leave out a single thing, I'll ask Mrs. Beaty."
Sonny is at the counter and hands us some tickets, having bought them for everyone the way multi-millionaires do. But he hands us waivers, too.
"Looks like there's some kind of participation option," Sonny says. "If you sign the waiver, you can get onto the ice, or something."
"Or something," I say.
A voice from the ticket window next to ours cuts over our conversation. "We can really get on the ice? Is this some kind of exhibition game?"
We all turn our heads to see Philip standing a few feet from us. He's pretending he doesn't know we're here, but there's no reason to speak so loudly in our direction when he should speak in the direction of the glass.
"Yup," the girl behind the counter says. "You gotta sign the waiver."
"I played hockey for years," he says, signing the paper.
"Wow. Someone who played hockey going to an ice rink. What will they think of next?" the girl behind the ticket counter says. Our group snorts.
Philip says something quietly to the woman beside him, and Ash's hands tighten in mine.
Philip has brought a date .
Is Ash jealous? Please tell me she's not jealous. Her face looks pained, though, and I can’t imagine what else could cause her?—
"He's only gonna be here for a couple of weeks," Lou says softly to Ash. "He'll be gone before he can play head games with her. She’ll barely have time to even wonder if he'll call her again."
I want to shake myself for how petty I am. I was worried that Ash was jealous, but she's worried that Philip is going to do what he did to her to that girl. Maybe Philip flew some girl out for the weekend, but it's more likely that she’s local, and the idea of Philip playing with her mind like he did Ash's eats at me. Sure, he may only be here for a couple of weeks, but if we lose the chamber of commerce accounts, he could be here for a lot longer.
I wasn't planning to sign the waiver, but I do. Fast. I hand it up to Sonny. "You're signing, too," I tell him and Tripp.
Especially Tripp.
Duke waves his hands. "Nope. My contract won't let me."
"Aw, poor Baby Duke can't have fun like the rest of us," Sonny says. Since he voluntarily retired from the NFL after winning the Carolina Waves the Superbowl, he's been relishing all the things he can now do, like snowboarding, rollerblading, and pickleball (the guy is obsessed with pickleball). And now, Double H hockey.
Sonny signs it fast, but Tripp gives me a long look. "Are you sure about this?"
"Positive."
Tripp signs.
"All right, eh," Sonny says in a thick Canadian accent. "Let's go play some hockey."
Tripp squeezes Sonny's shoulder. "Don't get ahead of yourself, buddy."
Fifteen minutes later, our friends are in our seats while Sonny, Tripp, and I are in pads and uniforms on the bench along with nine other guys. Turns out, knowing everyone around here gives me some perks, because I managed to make sure the three of us are on the same team and Philip isn't.
The arena is kept at a chilly 58 degrees, but here on the ice, it's colder. The barn seats about 5,000 people, making it one of the smaller arenas in the East Coast Hockey League, but it always fills up. Mullet Ridge cares a lot about their sports.
Including ice football.
Sonny shakes his head. "Ice what?"
"Ice football," our coach says.
"Do I have a concussion?"
"Welcome to Hillbilly Hockey," I say.
Sonny laughs. "You're serious? 'Double H Hockey' means 'Hillbilly Hockey?' Y'all know that's three h's, right?"
"It's the name of the league: Double H," I say. "There are eight teams in the league so far, all throughout the south. They travel, and everything."
"Then why do they allow fans to play?"
"League rules. We can have up to three fans at a time substitute for our players,” the coach says. “It builds hype. And considering you, Tripp, and Rusty all know how to play football better than Bubba, Beau, and Brick, I figured it was a safe move."
Bubba, Beau, and Brick all laugh.
"Oh, those are your actual — " Sonny stops himself. "Okay. So we're playing football. On ice."
"Arena league football rules," I say, "with eight players from each team on the ice at a time."
"Plus a penalty box for fouls," Tripp adds.
"Fouls?" Sonny asks.
"Fights," Tripp says.
Sonny lifts his foot. "In bowling shoes?"
I smile. "In bowling shoes. "
Sonny's look of disbelief transforms into a massive grin. "This might be the best thing I've ever heard. I'm gonna have PJ record every second."
"Trust me, they got it covered," Tripp says, nodding in the direction of our friends a half dozen rows up.
Every single one of them is already recording us.
Including Lottie.
She squeals when I look at her. "Hi, Uncle Rusty!"
I wave, and she blows me a kiss. Then she glares at Ash and I hide my laugh behind a fake cough. Ash looks at me with wide eyes. I guess Lottie hasn't forgiven her, after all.
The coach starts going over the plan for the game, but I keep my eyes on Ash. She is breathtaking. She pulled her hair into a bun, but a handful of curls have escaped. She's not wearing lipstick, but her lips are already a touch purple from the cold, and with the tiniest hint of pink on her nose, the effect is wildly attractive. She forgot to bring something warm, so she's wearing my gray Clemson sweatshirt, curling up in it for warmth in a way that pinches my chest.
She's wearing my sweatshirt.
And it sets my brain on fire. If that sweatshirt had my name on it …
Whew.
We keep looking at each other until Ash jumps up. She squeezes past our friends to get to the stairs, and then she runs down them to get to me.
She's wearing my sweatshirt and a smile that could melt the ice, and those willful loose curls bounce around her blue glasses, and she's running to me .
Fake or not, I could die a happy man. I step out of the bench and open the door into the stands.
"Duke filled us in on what this whole thing is about, and Hotcakes, I have never been more excited to watch a football game. "
"We agreed to do whatever feels natural, right?" I whisper.
Her eyes jump to my lips, and the fire in my brain spreads to my whole body. "Yes."
I drop my helmet and pull her head toward me, our lips crashing into each other. Our kiss is a flash in a pan — quick and flaming hot — but I'm so lost in her mouth that when we break apart, it takes me a minute to get my bearings. Ash's lips are bright red and she's smiling. "Holy hot lips, Batman. Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
"I'm available for private lessons after the game," I say.
Ash grabs the front of my jersey even as the coach tells me to hurry up. She's staring at my mouth with her teeth gritted playfully. "I know this is fake, but I may take you up on that."
"I may let you."
She licks the corner of her mouth, and a guttural sound issues from my throat. "Ashley Jane … "
"Dude, you saying my name like that is next level hot."
She kisses me hard and fast again and then lets go of my jersey.
I fall back, and fortunately, Tripp catches me.
Ash is already running back to her seat when Tripp puts my helmet on my head.
"Let's go, Loverboy."
The teams lineup in our end zones. Unlike in regular football, in ice football — hillbilly hockey — possession is determined by whichever team can run to center court first and get the ball.
There's no question I'm the fastest guy in this room. I ran a 4.4 forty yard-dash in college. But this is ice, not grass. And I'm in bowling shoes.
I have to beat Philip.
The referee blows his whistle, and we're off.
We lose Tripp instantly.
I hear my giant of a friend curse, but I don't risk a glance behind me. Based on the laughter, I imagine he took a pretty big spill. Another few guys fall, and within ten yards, it's just Sonny, me, and one other guy on our team. Philip's team has five men left.
Including Philip.
Running on ice is like a funhouse version of running, less the fun. But this ain't my first time playing hillbilly hockey.
I keep my knees bent and land on the balls of my feet, letting my heels barely kiss the ground before I lift again. I still feel off balance and like I could wipe out at any second, but that's hardly surprising. The cold air is exhilarating, and when I see Philip wobble, a sharp smile forms on my lips.
With less than ten yards to go, Philip is on his feet, but I drop to my knees, letting my momentum carry me across the ice.
I scoop the football up and the referee blows his whistle.
Philip is still running at me, though, clearly set on a collision course.
I tuck my head and brace for impact. His knee pad smacks into my helmet, rattling my head around. He's falling forward, so I shrug and he flips over me neatly, landing hard on his back.
"Oof," he says as the wind knocks out of him.
The crowd oohs and laughs. And because I'm a gentleman, I get to my feet and offer Philip my hand.
He slaps it away. "I don't need help. I'm sure Ashley told you how good I am at getting things done."
"Honestly, she never mentioned you," I say. "I don't think you meant as much to her as you think you did."
His eyes glint with menace as he pushes himself to a stand. "You should really be thanking me."
"Why would I thank you?"
"Because I broke her in for you."
Philip moves before I can punch him.
And it’s a good thing, because as I watch him return to his side of the rink, it’s with the most violent of intentions.
I'm going to destroy him.